


Stabbed

by the_Anonymous_Writer



Series: October Whump-tober prompts 2018 [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, mild violence, use of zalgo text
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Anonymous_Writer/pseuds/the_Anonymous_Writer
Summary: Day 1 prompt from Whump-tober 2018.This is taken directly out of the first chapter of A Break from Reality, except with the addition of zalgo text for Anti.





	Stabbed

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who has read the first chapter of A Break from Reality will recognize this since I literally took the scene straight from there. Don't know if it's considered cheating for the challenge or not but it fit perfectly with the prompt so I used it.  
> Also, I'm testing out Zalgo text. Don't think I'll use it often but it's fun on the occasion.

Jameson liked Jack. He looked up to him. And when he found out that Anti had managed to drag him here... well, he knew he had to do something. But now that he did he was scared. Anti was going to find out. Despite that he couldn't bring himself to regret his decision to help. He wrung his hands anxiously waiting for the inevitable. It was coming soon and there was no use hiding so he just stayed in his room. Anti always knew where he was...

Suddenly the air in the room changed. Jameson felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand and stopped his pacing. Slowly he turned around to see Antis' glitching form. “Y̸̧̛̕o̴̧͠ư͜ ̕͡t͠ơ̵̶̸̕l̡̢͘͟d̷̡̛͞͠ ̢̧ţ͜͞͡h̷̢͜͜e̛̕͠m̛͠͠,” Anti snarled, his voice distorted. The whites of his eyes had turned to black; his irises a green. The scar on his neck looked like an open wound with some blood running down his neck. Jameson took a step back, fear in his eyes. Then another as Anti started to approach him with a knife in hand. He kept backing up until he bumped into the wall at which point he lifted his hands trying to plead with him. Opening his mouth to speak except nothing came out. He was the only one unable to speak and, right now, he cursed that inability. A vague memory of Anti calling him incomplete flitted through his mind.

Anti grabbed him by the neck and lifted him off the floor while keeping him pinned against the wall. Panic flashed in Jamesons eyes as his hands flew up to grab at Antis' wrist; his legs flailing desperately trying to reach the floor. Lifting his knife, Anti brought it up to one of the other mans eyes. “D͠o̡͟͝ ̸͢͝͝y͠o̴̕͝u̧͡ ͟͏̧ȩ̵͠n̨̡̛j̨͜ǫ͜͞y̵̸͘ ͏̧s̷̨̢͘e͢e͟į̴̡̛͡ņ͜g̷͜͠,̧͡ ̷̡̛͘p̸̧̢͡ų҉͝p̴̵̢p̸͢͞͡ę̢͝t̡͘?” Jameson managed to get his shoes to grip on the wall without slipping. He tried to squirm away from the knife but Antis' grip didn't allow for that. The tip of the knife dug into his skin just below his eye, than pulled agonizingly slow across his cheek. Jameson didn't know what was worse: the pain from the knife or the lack of oxygen? He was starting to see spots in the corners of his vision. Suddenly, the knife was pulled back... and stabbed into his side. His feet slid from the wall and he gasped choking on air.

After removing the knife, Anti dropped Jameson and watched with disdain at his writhing and gasping for air. “G͏̴͟o̶͘͟ ̛͢͜a̶͜͡͝h͠ȩ͘a͡d̷̸͘͝ ̷̢̕͝a̴͝n̡͢d̴̴ ̡͞͡s̨e̛͝e̡͢͠ ͏̧̡͢͠t̶̢͜͏h̴e͜͏ ̴̷̨g̡̡͝o͢͜͞o̴̧͏͘d̸ ̷̸̕d͟oc̴̸t̸̷͞o̶̢r̡͞͏͡.” He used a mocking tone when mentioning the doctor. “I̸͟'̡d̡̧̡̛͡ ͢͝l̵͟͏͠o͏̵̸͜͡v̸͜͢e̵̴ ̴̕t̕͝ơ̧̕͝ ̵̨̛̕̕k͘͢n̶̶̛͢o̵̢͢͝w̶҉̴͝ ̵̡w͘͡h̸̨̢e̴̶r͘͢͟͡͠e͝ ̛ţ̢̧͘͜h̡͘͜͠ę͡y̴'̡̡͏͢r̷͢͡e̵͟͠ ̴̛̕h̢͢͝i͢͜d̨͜͠i͘͜͜͡n̸̸̶̡g̵͜͠.” With that he turned while glitching irregularly, and stalked out of the room.

Jameson laid curled up in pain and wheezing, desperately trying to replenish the oxygen he'd lost. What was he going to do? He couldn't go to Henrik, yet he had no idea how to tend to this kind of injury on his own. What... was he going to do? A couple tears ran down his cheeks giving the cut on his face a burning feeling. He struggled to sit up. The pain was so bad and pressing a hand to the injury just seemed to make it worse. Even so, he knew he had to put pressure on the wound. He just... He needed to find bandages. Slowly, he made his way to his feet only to immediately feel dizzy. And walking hurt. When he managed to the door, he leaned heavily on the frame. He had to think, force himself to focus. Where was it Henrik left the first aid kit? Maybe there was some left.

Oh, right. Basic first aid was usually in the bathroom. Slowly, he moved away from the doorway and started shuffling down the hall. There was a bathroom close by; he hoped to find what he needed. Finally, after a bit of searching, Jameson found a white container with the words 'First Aid' written on the top tucked away in one of the cabinets. He sat himself down on the toilet seat with a grimace before setting the kit down on his lap. Wearily, he removed his hand from his side. He felt woozy as he opened the first aid kit with shaky hands leaving a bloody print on the white container.

Gauze, adhesive tape, a few band-aids and a small pair of scissors that look like they'd been used for something other than their intended purpose. He needed bandages not band-aids, but... he didn't think he could manage going downstairs to the other bathroom. Turning his head he looked down at his side. His shirt was completely soaked through and the blood was already seeping into his slacks. Without even seeing the actual injury he already knew this was bad. Carefully, he lifted his shirt revealing the wound. Jameson shut his eyes and tilted his head back for a moment. He wasn't sure he could handle this. His breaths quickened but that seemed to put extra pressure on it and he had to force himself to calm down. Re-lifting his shirt he tried to prop it up only for it to slide back down. He scrunched it up and tucked it under his arm holding it in place.

He turned his attention back to the med-kit and proceeded to cut the adhesive tape into strips. As he did this he felt himself start to lean forward slightly. He swore he was about to pass out for a moment there. Setting down the little scissors he picked up the gauze. Jameson struggled to find the right way to position his arms to both keep his shirt out of the way and patch himself up at the same time. Finally, he put the strips of tape onto the gauze before he attempted again. He got it this time but it was poorly done. And it hurt... He was going to need more tape... Looking back down to the medical supplies he picked up the scissors before he slumped over to the side leaning against the wall. The scissors fell from his hand to the floor though the clatter didn't wake him. Neither did the foot steps. Or the uncomfortable, slightly static filled air that accompanied the figure who now stood in the doorway.

 


End file.
